Oh, the hair…

I’ve been a fan for years of the type of music which many would have called "indie music": jangly guitars, floppy hair, black jeans and meaningful lyrics. Varying from the rock, heavy metal and goth by dint of slightly cheerier lyrics and less agressive refrains, bands like The Wonderstuff, Pop Will Eat Itself, Inspiral Carpets and The Happy Mondays were in all our cassette decks back then. I and my group of friends spent a lot of time at friend’s parents’ houses and at music festivals, listening to music, covering ourselves in mud, damaging our hearing and drinking cider, or driving slightly too fast for the back roads between our respective homes. One particular favourite place to hang around was in the extensive garden of a particular friend’s home, or, in this case, on the roof (accessed through a musty attic and small trap door). I don’t think that his house-proud mother ever found out that we used to go up there, so let’s hope that she’s not reading this…

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